Sleepover

We are wrapping up England. But we can't take it with us. We can transport only the words, We did that.

The kids wanted their friend Am to sleepover. We did that.

Am came round. The kids did what they wanted to do. They ran around, made pizza, played unicorns in the garden, watched a DVD, fooled about, freaked themselves by conjuring zombies in the dark, laughed long and hard, then at midnight Am laid down, exhausted, on the inflatable mattress in Tiger's room, and blew out like a light.


Her mum Jol came with her; she had a sleepover too. We're both mothers. We dressed in straps, heels, and stuff unwise, found ourselves a bistro, drank too much wine, laughed too loud, screamed in delight at the taboos we could break, said What the hell!, stayed out late, came home by taxi, giggled and tiptoed back into the house at 4am so as not to wake the kids.

We didn't. But I wanted to say, We did that.

Top quality chat

Grit has another tip-top quality chat day with Jol.

In fact Grit and Jol are now so faultlessly streamlined - a bit like a professional bobsleigh team - that we could pair up and chat for England in a chit-chat competition. We can negotiate twenty different subjects simultaneously, navigate difficult bits with grace and chat at 150 words per minute with ne'er a second lost in transition from talker to talker. We even make space for inbreaths, irritating children, raucous laughter, thigh slapping and tea sipping. How professional is that?

I think it is very important, all this chit chat. I have come to the conclusion that in many places and moments people are lonely, and in that respect the home educating experience can bring as much loneliness as any place else - say in a room full of people, on a beach, in a car park, or where you might live, surrounded by trees. And even though you might love people, beaches, cars and trees very much, sometimes it is relieving to be able to do nothing more than chat and chat and chat about nothing and everything all at the same time, and be both listener and speaker and hearer and talker.

And it is just as well I don't see Jol everyday, because if I did, this blog probably wouldn't need to exist.

Just one thing I forgot...

Whoop-de-doo! 8.05 and Grit leaps out of bed! This is going to be a day of action! Nothing's going to stop the pace today! Grit is going to change her name to Mrs Achievement!

First off, it's the Independent no diet, so I switch off my mobile and put on a skirt. Those are two things I have to do to break out of my fatty web habit. Tick! Done!

Next, dishwasher, laundry (first load), then organise Squirrel, Shark and Tiger with three different activities in three different rooms.

Tiger is starting a project on birds, so she's equipped with mosaics and bird shapes from Our Lord Hobbycraft plus a big folder full of information on birds. The lot is installed downstairs in the cellar bedroom at the table shaped like an egg. Tick! Done!

Squirrel obligingly goes to the writing desk in the front room to finish off copying out her poem about turning into a dolphin. OK, so she's been at it three weeks, but I haven't given up. And today, guess what? Tick! Done!

Shark goes into the schoolroom where she hammers about with some clay and grunts. I am not absolutely sure what she's doing, but she didn't get to sleep till midnight, so we'll just be grateful for small mercies. And shout tick! Done!

At 12.55 I put on the laundry (second load), and the science programmes on BBC2 and say it doesn't matter about the ages, just watch it while I make two tortillas, one with the egg and one without the egg. Tick! Done!

After lunch, it's dishwasher and laundry (third load), then admin for me while Shark, Squirrel and Tiger play Mermaids. Grit admin means dribbling in front of the Amazon site and ordering Nim's Island, the Martin Jenkins version of Gulliver, and Seventy Great Journeys in History. Then it's telephoning the car insurers and writing emails to the child psychologist for Tiger's follow-up interview. All that! Tick! Done!

Next, take Shark to worship at Hobbycraft where she has seen a dress-your-mermaid book at £1.99. After success like today, I'm feeling indulgent. Tick! Done!

Hurrah! Back in time to make a quick tea! Then ballet for Squirrel and drama group for Tiger and Shark! Tick! Double Done!

Finally, dishwasher and laundry (load four), then bath and bed for Shark, Tiger and Squirrel and a bottle of beer for Mummy Grit to celebrate a day of achievement. Tick! Done!

Then at 10pm I switch on my mobile. And there's Jol, saying Where are you? We are here, at the safari park where you arranged, and it is raining.

Oh dear.

All worn out. Me and the fridge

Grit is tired out. She has had tip-top quality chat time with Jol. Six hours of it! Can you believe jaws can chat-chat-chat that long? This fine record was achieved down at the local indoor play centre where Squirrel, Shark and Tiger intermittently played and fought over who was next in the rota to go off to the carousel with Am. So really it is not about children playing so that their mummies can engage in tip-top chat. No, not at all. It is all about ensuring the effective socialisation of the home educated child. Really. Honestly.

Anyway, Grit is all chit-chatted out and now totally empty of anything interesting because it has all been said. A bit like this.

Science vs art

I'm feeling a bit brighter today. With Elizabeth Hurley at home nursing her hand, we're driving the kids to the Space Centre in Leicester. Here we've a workshop booked with Am and Jol and lots of other home educators. Dig's coming because he hopes we'll do some proper science. So, en famille again, things are looking decidedly up.

And indeed everything goes very well. The Grit and Dig family arrive late and get bundled into the Planets show at the theatre, which we reckon is much better than the Night and Day show. Shark, Squirrel and Tiger are all enthused by the displays and Grit is happy because there's a panel on astronomy through history.

Then comes the workshop. Here we're going to make rockets. Actually, the kids are making them from paper rolls and film canisters while I get in some tip-top quality chat time with Jol. Dig is sitting at the back grumbling about the quality of the science and saying it is more like an art and craft lesson. I agree, but it is not worth interrupting tip-top quality time for that, so largely ignore him. Off he goes to try and introduce some scientific concepts round the girly table as they are all doing their colouring in.

Squirrel is colouring her rocket with pinks and greens and will not explode it with a jet of gas from a fizzy tablet because she does not want to spoil the pattern. Dig gets peeved and starts telling everyone there's a scientific principle operating here and whoever saw a pink rocket with roses on it anyway.

I must say Dig's putting in some work. He promises that the picture of the unicorn will remain intact after explosion thanks to the gravitational pull of the earth, so Tiger gives in, as does Shark, who reluctantly watches in a mixture of dismay and delight as her rocket, sporting a picture of a dolphin, soars into the air and then lands to ground with just the faintest of buckled noses. Squirrel's not persuaded. She refuses to join in point blank. Her rocket now has a rainbow on it. She's sellotaped the lid on as additional security from Dig, so there's nowhere to put the fizzy tablet fuel.

Am, encouraged by all this activity, and who has been making a delightful patterned rocket with the rest of the girly troupe around the art and craft table, joins the queue to explode her rocket.

And my goodness, it does explode. It goes up into the air, higher, faster and more amazingly than anyone else's. And it doesn't come down. It gets stuck in the overhead light at the highest point of the ceiling.

Am is distraught. Well, actually, Am is beside herself with the loss of a very fine coloured rocket. And everyone tries to comfort her. Including Dig, who cheerily says, 'Very successful!' And Am screams.

Am's scream is hugely impressive. It is very Queen of the Night and possibly pitch perfect. It is better than Tiger's, who can manage a proper scream or two, and it is certainly better than Squirrel, who has not been on best screaming form lately. Indeed, Am's scream is so lengthy and amazing that it comes very close to the scream that Shark did while rolling in the gutter on the day of the bike ride. Am's scream is highly impressive, and I'd give it a 9.5 with extra stars for an honourable mention.

And Dig, you just have to remember that ladies of delicate dispositions, when they have just lost their pink rockets, are not at that moment interested in an explanation of Newton's first law of motion.

Knebworth

Tra la la! We're all out for a home ed trip to Knebworth, where we have a jolly super time with Am and Jol and lots of folks we know. This is a tip-top day and I've not a complaint against it.

Except that I am made to sit on the little train and pretend I am aged five again, which I try and do quite gamely. I would sit with Shark, but she is in a strop about a stick, and so spends her time in another carriage trying not to enjoy herself at all.

And I do feel a bit grumpy about having to go round the house. I do not do tours of rich houses very well. I do not know what they are for, neither the house nor the country gentry who live in them. I have a few tendenceies towards the common folk, thanks to my background and the family history down the mines, and am therefore not well disposed to the ruling classes.

Also, although I do not bear grudges, we got thrown out of a National Trust propery six and a half years ago when Tiger got too close to a mirror. The fact that she was some meters from it was not significant, apparently. She was still too close. Well that did it. I haven't been round anywhere since.

Now I obviously don't want this to become a grump about the National Trust, which has been very good to us, apart from confiscating our cards and a tennis ball, that is. And picking a fight with us down the temple gardens. Now I come to think of it, all those incidents were at Stowe Gardens. Maybe it's the staff.

Perhaps that's what it is at the Knebworth house tour. It's the staff. A lovely lady shows us round and not once did she tell us off.

The lovely lady never once complained that we weren't listening, that we weren't looking, or that we were too close, too crowded, too far apart or too talkative. She did not complain that we were leaning, holding, pointing, or looking up when we should be looking down. It's surprising, isn't it, that Grit and all the little junior Grits should be told off for doing these things, but we have. Especially mummy Grit, leaning against signs that say Do Not Lean Here. And last week, sitting under the sign that says No Picnics with a flask of green tea and a cheese sandwich.

Anyway, lovely lady at Knebworth told us off not once. Not a single instance, in fact.

And I ended up enjoying myself. Even though, like Shark, I didn't want to. And I think that points to a moral. If everyone is just nice to each other, no-one has to grump and rant and complain about anything. In fact Grit's day wouldn't need to exist.

Well, only a bit.

Clay

We are all off to a home ed workshop on clay.

So for about an hour beforehand I'm getting everyone ready. It's 'Sasha, comb Tiger's hair', then 'Sasha, bring Squirrel downstairs to put on her shoes', and 'Sasha help Shark get up from the floor where she is lying down screaming thanks to Tiger having trodden on her'. Honestly, this au pair thing is hard work and I may well have had a nose full.

Next on the agenda is actually getting to Middletown. There are no road closures or spilled liquid petroleum. I am wise and I have put petrol in the car. There is not a hurricane like the day we decided to visit Kenilworth castle. Sasha did not burst into tears and there were no fisticuffs in the back seats. Even better, when we arrive, we see Am and Jol in the playground. So everyone is excited and happy. Personally, I cannot believe our luck. We have got here early, without casualty, and Sasha might think this is normal.

We're not early enough. Within minutes we're all off inside to find out about Rodin but not the naughty bits. I get rid of Sasha. I say, 'Sasha you could walk into town for an hour, there's not much here apart from a lot of home educated children, some clay, and Rodin without the naughty bits. So off you go and enjoy the sunshine.' What I really want to say is 'Sasha, push off so I can have your seat and get in some tip-top quality chat time with Jol.' Of course I do not say that because even I am on my bestest behaviour with Sasha now.

The first downturned lips come where there is a bit of a fight over who gets to sit opposite Am. Jol is right on form and solves this thanks to incredibly quick thinking and rearranging people and furniture, so everyone gets sorted. Then Rodin and the clay work begin.

After looking at pictures of Rodin's work but no naughty bits, everyone's invited to do something interesting with clay. Shark immediately starts off making the stem of a rose. Unfortunately, it looks like a giant phallus and looks like we might have studied Rodin's naughty bits at home, which we haven't, but hey, this is the home ed world, and people expect anything. So I let it be known that it is a rose stem. That's a rose stem that Shark is making. A lovely stem for a rose. She's going to put the petals on later. See, she's making the petals now.

Apart from this minor difficulty, clay procedes quite well. Squirrel starts making a bird but its head keeps dropping off. Tiger makes a horse, because Tiger is into horses big time. She hasn't fallen off yet on the horseriding lessons, so we might see a change of heart when she does.

Then, disaster. I can see Shark wanting to scream. She goes all stiff and red in the face, her mouth clamps together in a thin hard line, and little tears pop onto her cheeks. I have told Shark not to scream in public because it is embarrassing and everyone stares. Shark has a long history of screaming in public places. I think her best screaming has been done on the corner of Winston Road and Gurney Lane when the residents came out to look at the five-year old rolling about in the gutter hanging onto a bicycle. I could choose that as the top scream, or it might be the lamp-post incident last week, or perhaps the library. Whatever, she's under caution. I have told her that if she screams again in public I will sell her for medical experiments.

Shark wants to scream because her petals won't stay on the phallus-rose-stem. In fact the phallus-rose-stem is starting to droop and will never hold the weight of twelve petals made from about a half kilo of air-hardening clay. Every time a new petal gets squished into the top, the phallus-rose-stem buckles a bit more and Shark becomes more despairing. But now Jol is involved and has her second most helpful moment of the day. 'Put a stick in it' she suggests. This is brilliant and I leg it into the garden to locate a real bit of rose stem to skewer down the centre of Shark's clay. Success! This works. The downside is that the phallus-rose-stem is bigger than ever and starting to command attention. I start to worry about the police and social services dropping by later and am very grateful when the clay teacher suggests lowering a plastic bag over it and putting it in the car for the drive home.

I think all the niceness of Sasha's visit and the creative tension from the artists at the Rodin workshop had to explode somewhere. And it did. On the way back to Smalltown there was a lot of screaming and a very big bout of fisticuffs in the back of the car, followed by a lot of shouting from mummy Grit, and a frozen smile from Sasha, who didn't object one bit when I suggested dropping her off at the airport two hours early.

But now we can go back to normal. Sasha's gone, there's a clay phallus in a plastic bag next to Tiger's clay horse, which she says she hates because it has a nose like a sheep, and here's Squirrel's headless bird. The head is rolling about on a plastic tray, and already I've promised we can fix it tomorrow, if we get time.

Chat chat chat

Well this is starting to sound normal. Here we go again, en famille, on another jolly outing, all together, travelling in the same direction and at the same time. Amazing. Today we're all off to see a dragon get knocked over in a field by St George. And this is the first time Dig has joined us.

We meet Am and Jol there, which is fab, because I get to chat about everything and ignore the children who are Dig's responsibility, since after three years of doing this venue alone with Shark, Squirrel and Tiger, it's his turn. He's very good about it too, taking them off to see the horses and riders attack bags and grapefruits and things, while I watch medieval knights knock each other about the head for fun.

When I'm not watching blokes batter each other around the head or eat fire, then I can chat with Jol. Chatting with Jol is great fun. Without children we can chat about nothing in particular and everything in the world all at once, and this is particularly satisfying. Jol is a very good chatter and can chat about just anything. I bet if I said 'Potatoes and brussel sprouts' she could chat about that and we'd have quite an interesting time of it. Even better, Jol would make me laugh with some brilliant story about Brown Owl, some brussel sprouts, a bag of potatoes and a pencil sharpener.

Anyway, the dragon got knocked over at the end of today's festival in celebration of St George. The children loved it, especially when the dragon couldn't get back up without the help of some villagers and a couple of sheep. All went home happy. Well, perhaps except for Shark who went bonkers on the way out the field where we parked the car.

Actually, this St George fan club is something that neither me nor Dig subscribe to, only Dig's more eloquent and articulate when it comes to expressing the politics. In fact Dig spent quite a lot of the car journey home being articulate about the politics of St George and the representation of the Saracen. I might not take him next year. Actually, I'll revise that thought. If Am and Jol are going to be there, he can come, and I can get in some quality chat time.